Addiction
by sassiest-angel-in-the-garrison
Summary: Derek is slipping back into old habits, but can he fight the cravings for the sake of his relationship with Stiles?


It had been a while since Derek's last time. Days, weeks; it was all blurring together, but he knew it had been a long time. He was craving it again, though this much time had passed. He vowed that his last time was truly that, and the promise wasn't just to himself. But that didn't stop his painful desire to do it again; He was convinced that nothing would stop it. As much as he distracted himself from it, and told himself that he couldn't slip into that dark hole again, the cravings still raced to the front of his mind.

He needed something strong; he needed something that would take him far out of his own mind.

But after Stiles pulled him out of his spiraling addiction, and after seeing the horror in his face, he swore it would be the last. Stiles, the one he loved so dearly, and the only human to touch his heart in such profound ways; he couldn't possibly hurt him like that. They'd come too far in their relationship for Derek to even think about breaking a simple promise. The last thing he'd want for them is for all of his declarations of love to be swept under him because of a lousy addiction.

Derek was stronger than that, and he knew it.

He tried to shake the cravings, splashing water in his face from the creek in the forest. He watched his reflection, seeing a face he was growing to like more since Stiles made him throw the harmful substances away. After Stiles caught him, he felt useless. The drugs had defeated him, and he felt weak for being so powerless against them. He even looked weak on the drugs, with those tired, sunken eyes, and a face that resembled a skeleton. Since then, Stiles had been taking the steps to turn it around, and Derek was looking just as healthy as he did before substance abuse took him over.

Derek knew he couldn't make it through without him.

As he began venturing out of the forest, concluding his time to ponder, a loud ringing sounded through the sea of trees. He reached into his pocket, and slipped out his slim, black cell phone. He smiled faintly at the name on the caller I.D., flipped the phone open and held it to his ear.

"Hey Stiles," he said, more cheerfully than normal.

"Hey," said Stiles, quickly. "You're half an hour late."

"Sorry. Me time went a bit longer than expected."

"Derek, I swear. If you're—"

"Stiles, no. I promised you I wouldn't do that."

On the other end of Derek's phone, he could hear Stiles' heavy breath rush into the receiver. Derek started walking faster, wanting to hurry and relieve his stress.

"I know you did," said Stiles. "Sorry. I should be more trusting. You've been doing good."

"I sure have," said Derek. "I'll be there soon."

He rushed out of the forest and back to his car, which was just parked to the side of the road. He hopped in and turned the key, and his car roared to life before he started heading down the road.

When he arrived at Stiles' house, he parked his car outside on the curb by his front yard, and headed up the walkway to the door. He pushed the button for the doorbell, hearing it echo throughout the house. He could even hear Stiles walk down the hall, as his feet gently patted against the wood flooring of the house all the way to the entrance of his home.

Once he opened it, he looked up at Derek, letting a faint smile show in his expression.

"You sure kept me waiting," said Stiles.

"Sorry," said Derek, giving Stiles a quick peck on the lips. "I hope you aren't mad at me."

"Nah, of course not. I love you too much to be mad over that. Make it a habit, and then you'll see me mad."

They chuckled a bit as Derek entered his house. As per their normal "Derek visits Stiles" routine, Derek immediately slipped his shoes off by the front door and followed Stiles down the hall into his room. Each of them plopped onto Stiles' bed, where Stiles, like clockwork, laid his head on Derek's chest. Derek lifted his hand and let it roam around Stiles' buzzed cut hair, feeling at ease with him in his arms.

Just as they started catching up with each other, a strong vibration pulsed through Stiles' bed, stopping Derek mid-sentence. He pulled his phone out of his front pocket and flipped it open. He rolled his eyes at the text message.

"What?" asked Stiles.

"Erica," he said. "She keeps bugging me about some rave happening tonight."

He noticed it just as easily as one would notice a neon green sign in a black and white room. Stiles' expression sunk right as the word "rave" slipped between his lips. Derek's eyes narrowed.

"What?" he asked.

"I just worry about you," said Stiles. "I don't want you to…you know…"

Derek chuckled slightly, and pressed his lips ever so gently against the top of Stiles' head.

"You know I won't do anything like that. I made a promise to you. You can come with, if you'd like. Just to see for yourself."

"No, no, I trust you. I really do. I shouldn't even be worried. And I can't go. Lacrosse game tonight."

"Oh shit," said Derek. "I forgot you had that. I don't have to go to the rave. They'll be fine."

"Go, Derek. I know the pack means a lot to you. You've been to all of my games this season. Missing one won't kill me."

Derek smiled and pulled Stiles a bit closer to him.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Of course. But if you miss the next one, I'll have to give you some sort of punishment…"

Derek chuckled and kissed Stiles' lips tenderly. He was overjoyed that Stiles trusted him again, and he was determined to keep this trust from breaking.

They spent the rest of their time together watching a movie while cuddling ever so closely. When it was time for Stiles to get ready for the game, Derek offered to take him, but Stiles said that he had to give Scott a ride. So with that, they walked down the hall and to the front door, where they shared kisses for what seemed to be minutes, before Derek was finally able to pull himself out the door.

As he walked to his car and slipped into the driver's seat, he started feeling anxious about the rave. He was just going to make sure Erica and Boyd would stay out of trouble (Isaac would be at the lacrosse game, as well). Though he was still mentoring his pack, he felt it was necessary to let them have some time for leisure as well. Raving wasn't the first thing he had in mind, but he figured, since it was what they wanted, he would support it. However, he felt he needed to go, because someone needed to make sure they weren't getting into anything dangerous.

He just wished someone would do the same for him.

When Derek pulled his sleek, black camaro into the parking lot, he immediately wanted to make a U-turn and book it out of there. However, not wanting to upset his two pack members, he took a deep breath and pulled into the first parking spot he could find. Erica immediately jumped out of the passenger's seat, the sound of her neon bracelets clanging together as she hurried out of the car. Derek took another deep breath; this was more than he bargained for.

"You okay?" asked Boyd, eyeing him from the back seat.

"I'm fine," said Derek.

He exited the car just as fast, trying to change his expression to lessen Boyd's concern. It was their night to forget about any worries they had, so why worry about Derek's problems? He just wanted them to have fun, and he knew that wouldn't happen if he kept a look of distress about him.

Erica was quite a ways ahead of them, giddy with untamable excitement about what the night had in store for her.

"Slow down, woman," said Boyd, walking a bit ahead of Derek. "I already don't really wanna be here."

"You could've stayed back," said Derek, chuckling.

"I'd take this over doing nothin'."

They entered the venue, and Derek flinched slightly at the blinding features in the dim-lit area. Strobe lights repeatedly stabbed his eyes with their bright, white flashes, though the pain became duller as time went on. There was a sea of neon colors on the dance floor, swaying back and forth to the electronic rhythms. The smell of sweat and perfume permeated the air, and the music was so loud, Derek could hardly listen to his own thoughts.

He hated every minute of it.

Erica immediately ran off. Derek assumed she was looking for a dance partner, or just looking to get lost in the scene. The two men stood near the entrance, both looking apathetic to the party around them.

"Not a party person, I see," said Boyd, shouting over the music.

"Don't worry about me," said Derek. "Go have fun."

"Man, like I said. I don't even—"

Confused by his mid-sentence halt, Derek looked over to see what caused it. It was a slim brunette with a skirt just long enough to hide her underwear. Derek watched Boyd's gaze as it followed her rear end. He rolled his eyes before Boyd could turn to him.

"You sure you're okay by yourself?" he asked, a slight grin forming on his face.

Derek made a shooing motion, and Boyd beamed in return, chasing after the brunette that caught his eye. Derek smiled, pleased that he was able to give both Erica and Boyd an enjoyable night. Even though he wanted to be at Stiles' lacrosse game, he knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself if his pack ran into any trouble here. Though they were werewolves, and they could defend themselves, he felt better knowing he was there with them.

He moseyed his way over to the bar area of the party, scoping out the large, flashing room. He caught sight of Erica, who was in her own world of dancing next to a guy who seemed captivated by her. He scanned the area a bit more and located Boyd, who was in the corner with the brunette from earlier, talking to each other with wide smiles on their faces.

Derek was trying to enjoy the scenery, but he was interrupted by the seductive stares from a blond woman with a shirt short enough to show her flat abs. She approached Derek, and he looked away from her, not amused in the slightest by her presence.

"Hey," she said. "If you come dance with me, I'll make it worth your while."

"I'm taken."

"Honey, I bet I'm loads better than her."

Derek, a bit agitated that this chick had that much confidence in herself, tried to keep himself from strangling her. He continued to look ahead, not ever making eye contact with her.

"Well, 'honey', she is actually a he."

Her brows furrowed at the response, but she played it off with a light chuckle.

"Just give me a chance, and I can show you what you're missing. You just haven't—"

He stopped listening to her nonsense, and started pushing his way through the crowd. He ignored the irritated glances he got from the people trying to enjoy the night, because he would rather take a million of those than one brat who had the audacity to try and take him away from Stiles.

Her ruthlessness reminded him of the substances he took.

They always gave the promise of a good time, and that all his worries would be gone. They promised pleasure that would blow his mind. They'd squeeze their way into his life, give him his few hours of joy, and then leave him to clean up the numerous messes after they do their job. He knew all too well that they would drag him away from his beautiful reality.

He had it all; a strong pack, a loving boyfriend, and he didn't want any of that taken away. All he needed was just one look into Stiles' eyes, and he felt at home, content, without a worry in the world. He learned the hard way that drugs would just take all of this away.

At least, he truly hoped he did.

As he pushed his way through the swarms of dancers, he bumped into Erica, who also was making her way through the crowd. She stumbled back a bit, groaning loud enough to be louder than the high volume of the bass against Derek's ears.

"Watch it, buddy," she said. "I'm trying to—"

She stopped as her eyes met Derek's, widening in fear as she saw him. Derek's eyes narrowed.

"Trying to what?" he asked, sternly.

He looked down at her hand, seeing a small Ziploc bag with a single, pink pill inside it. He looked back at Erica, who was shaking her head vigorously.

"It's not what you think," she said, quickly. "I was seriously about to throw it away."

"Do you know what that stuff can do to you?" Derek asked, not paying attention to her excuses. "It'll just make your miserable."

"I know that, Derek. I learned it from you."

Derek opened his mouth to protest, but immediately closed it, knowing she had him beat. Stiles wasn't the only one who realized he was an addict; his pack was concerned about him, too. He knew how much they looked up to him, and it hurt him, feeling the disappointment coming from her expression, knowing that he let them down by falling prey to such a malicious and preventable thing.

"Give me that," he said, snatching it from her hand. "I'll get rid of it."

He started walking away, storming through the numerous groups of people.

"Derek," Erica shouted over the music, making sure he heard her clearly.

He craned his neck in her direction, with a hint of irritation among his face.

"Are you actually gonna do that? Or do I need to follow you?"

Derek let out a puff of air, his lips pursed with anger. He could feel that no one trusted him. He felt he'd been off drugs for a while, and the fact that everyone was losing faith in him was creating a flame in his gut. He wanted to lash out; he wanted to let it all out right at her, but she didn't deserve that. It was his fault that he screwed up, and it was his responsibility to earn back their trust.

He just wanted her to stop being so condescending about it.

"Don't worry about me," he said, through clenched teeth.

He walked off, trying not to look back at her, as he looked around the venue for a trash can. Who knew it could be so hard to find? He ventured as far as the bathroom, and there were no cans in sight. He entered the bathroom, and held the plastic bag over the trash, staring at it as if it was going to eat him.

The feelings were coming back. The cravings were stronger than ever. This single pill in the bag was full of infinite possibilities; what could it do to him? How would it make him feel? The mystery of it all was exhilarating. He knew he needed to throw it away, he knew he needed to dispose if it before it could harm him, but old habits were emerging all over again. He just had to think about all the times he fought hard to seem sober. He could do it again, right? No one would know. He could enjoy the benefits of this mystery drug, and no one would ever know. No one would get hurt, he kept trying to tell himself. But what about the off chance that this drug made him too out of control? What if someone noticed? What if Stiles found out?

Blocking out any doubts he had, he popped the pill in his mouth before anyone could notice.

He left the bathroom, looking cautiously around him to make sure Erica didn't see. He couldn't find her, so he figured he was clear to move about.

As he made his way into the crowd, he could feel it; the drug was taking effect. He could feel the blood moving against the vessels in his body. He felt warm, hot even, feeling beads of sweat squeeze out of his pores. Rather than being annoyed by the music, he felt entranced by it, starting to sway and move to the pulsing rhythms.

He felt alive.

He felt like a car with an endless supply of gas. Whatever he took, he was glad he did, because he could finally enjoy himself. He felt that the little pink pill unlocked the chain link fence in his body, letting his wild side roam free. He no longer felt annoyed about being at the rave. He just felt like having a good time, and wasn't going to stop for anyone.

"Oh my god," he heard, over and over among the music. "What the hell? Derek? What did you do?"

He ignored the voice, trying to mind his own business in the medley of dancers. He was then pulled roughly out of the crowd, bringing him face to face with Erica. Merely seeing her face infuriated him.

"What the hell!" he said, shoving her to the ground.

He quickly distanced himself from her. She was trying to stop him from enjoying himself, and he wasn't going to have that. He wasn't going to let anyone stop him. He was finally free.

He didn't know how much time had passed, but after going a while without seeing Erica, he started hearing her voice again, but this time, answering to a voice that sounded familiar.

It was Stiles; even in his state, he could notice that for sure.

"Are you sure?" Stiles asked. "Maybe he's really just having fun."

"I'm positive," said Erica. "I wouldn't have called you unless it was this bad."

Derek looked in the direction of the voices, seeing Erica and Stiles through blurred vision. He felt his face form into a smile as he moved toward them. As he approached them, he could, more distinctly, see Stiles' features. He started stumbling, using Stiles' shoulders as leverage from completely falling over.

"Oh my god, Stiles," he said. "I'm so glad I came here. I'm having a damn good time."

"Get Boyd," said Stiles. "We gotta get him out of here."

Erica nodded, and started moving through the crowds to find him. The blurs in Derek's vision became more intense, and he could feel his body sinking closer to the ground. He immediately felt the sting of Stiles' disappointment.

"Dammit, Derek," said Stiles, trying to support Derek's weight. "So much for your promise."

The blur became more intense, turning his vision into a mess of neon colors. There were no distinct figures; there were just blobs of color merged together, slowly slipping away into a dark void. Through all of these distortions, he could hear Stiles sniffling, followed by the feeling of a single tear crashing against his cheek.

He failed; he finally felt it sinking in. He hurt Stiles yet again, and he knew he was deep into a hole that could take years to emerge from. He wanted to cry, to tear something apart; he wanted to do anything he could to get his frustration at himself out of his body, but the darkness was taking him, dragging him away from his pristine reality and into a hellish nightmare.

But through his slipping consciousness, he was only focused on one thing, and his determination was so strong, he managed to speak one thing clearly before completely faded away.

"Please don't leave me, Stiles."

Derek's eyes slowly peeled open, revealing the ceiling of the Subway car where he and his pack resided. He wasn't quite sure how he got here, and wanted nothing more than to just close his eyes again. However, he wanted to remember what happened the night before, and more importantly, why it was in bits and pieces in his mind.

As he sat up, he groaned, feeling a debilitating wave of nausea. He held his arms over his stomach, hunching over while fighting the urge to puke.

"Feeling a bit nauseous, I see," said a female voice.

He looked up and saw Erica, who was sitting in a seat directly across from him. Her face looked cold; it made Derek's nerves ignite with anxiety.

"What happened?" asked Derek.

"You don't remember, eh?"

Derek shook his head.

"Well, apparently old habits die hard. You're lucky you didn't die. Ecstasy's been known to kill people the first time they use it."

At the exact moment that the word "ecstasy" sounded from her lips, his blurred, shattered memories flew together like one giant puzzle. He remembered it all. From the moment they came into the rave, to the moment he saw Stiles, confused and hurt by the state Derek was in. The memories pounded against his head, punishing him with self-loathing. Despite wanting to take the drug so badly, and despite the selfish way he coaxed himself into taking it, he now felt like he screwed up in the highest possible way.

He felt like he, himself, pushed Stiles away for good.

"I can't imagine how Stiles feels right now," said Derek, under his breath.

"Probably not very good. You kinda broke a big promise to him – all of us, even."

Derek met Erica's gaze, which appeared lifeless; empty of any emotion. Though her voice screamed "rage", her eyes looked as if she'd given up. He never wanted a simple experiment to blow out of control, but seeing how upset Erica became because of it, he should have figured that the risks outweighed the immediate pleasure.

He shuddered, knowing that Stiles had to feel much worse than he did.

"I need to apologize to him," said Derek.

"And what good would that do?" Erica asked, raising her voice. "How would he – we know that you won't do it again? How do we know you're truly sorry? Don't you know how much I look up to you, Derek? You gave me this gift with the promise of being a great mentor, and now all you're just showing me how crappy you are. What good is your apology if you're just gonna run back to those stupid things?"

Like a knife in his heart, he felt the stab of her words. He held back his tears, needing to be strong for her. She was crafty with her words. She turned it around, making him realize that Stiles wasn't the only one who was hurt. He wasn't the only one who needed an apology.

"I'm sorry, Erica. I truly am. I know you don't believe me, but after seeing how all of this played out, I know what my mistakes can do. You don't have to trust me; I wouldn't either. But I'm going to work to earn it back. You just need to give me a chance. That's all I'm asking for. That's all I want from…"

He stopped, letting his name get lost in the air. Saying his name would have been too much. It would involuntarily send the tears flying out of his eyes.

"How do you know he'll believe you?"

"I don't, but I have to do something."

He made his way out of the subway car, but stopped to give Erica a pat on her shoulder. He faintly smiled at her, and she showed nothing in response.

He didn't blame her; he wouldn't show him pity, either.

On his drive to Stiles' house, he could feel his heartbeat pulse through his whole body. Stiles was the person he felt the most comfortable around, but the very thought of looking at him face-to-face at that moment scared Derek more than anything. Being as brave as he was, this made him doubt whether or not Stiles would actually take him back.

Either way, he just wanted Stiles to be happy.

He pulled up in front of the driveway, taking a deep breath before exiting the car and walking the long path up to the front door. Like a lighter being ignited, his nerves were set ablaze as his finger pushed against the button for the doorbell. As he waited, he could hear his heart beating. Thud, thud, thud.

The door opened; Derek froze.

Stiles took one quick glance at Derek, scoffed loudly, and started closing the door. Panicking, and trying to break free of his sudden paralysis, Derek threw his arm out, keeping the door from closing by pressing his hand against it.

"Wait," he said. "Please, Stiles. Just give me a minute to explain."

"Fifty-nine seconds, and counting," said Stiles.

Derek took a deep breath. He hadn't really thought of what he was going to say, but he was surprised when he heard what came out of his mouth.

"You don't have to believe me, because I know how much I hurt you. I wanted you to know that I'm truly sorry for what I did last night, despite promising something else to you. I've broken your trust more than once, and I don't deserve it, but if you give me a chance, I'll work to earn it back. I just don't want to live without you, Stiles. You're everything, to me. I can tell you anything, be who I want to be, and not care who's watching when I'm around you. You're all I need. You give me everything those stupid things can't, without ruining my life afterwards. If you don't want me back, fine. I understand. But if you do take me back, I promise, for real this time, that I'll work much harder to get your trust back. Either way, I just want you to be able to smile again."

He watched Stiles, keeping his eyes locked on his. Waiting for this response was worse than waiting for him to show up at the door. All he could do to keep himself from fidgeting was concentrate on breathing in and out.

And with how Stiles reacted, his anxiety wasn't for nothing.

Stiles' bottom lip started quivering, and it became apparent that he didn't want to cry. However, the tears started rolling down his cheek like a river.

Derek's could feel his heart shattering fragment by delicate fragment.

"You promised," he said, through sobs. "You promised me you wouldn't do it again, and look where we are now. I just…how could I even be sure that you meant it this time? I love you, Derek, more than I've ever loved someone. I just don't know if I can trust you."

Derek nodded, and looked down at his feet. He expected this answer more than he expected Stiles to take him back. He was guarded against it, but that didn't take away the sting he felt.

"I understand," he said, softly. "Take care, Stiles."

He turned around and started walking back to his car, lifting his feet as if they were weighed down by boulders. He let his guard vanish, feeling that no one was watching, and let the tears flow.

He lost Stiles; he lost his one true addiction.

He was Derek's drug of choice; he gave him every bit of pleasure he needed, without any harmful side effects. Once he started giving in to the mystery of all the other drugs in the world, he lost his harmony with the only one that kept him grounded. But as all addictions go, he had to endure a withdrawal period, in which his pain would punish him for venturing beyond the safety zone.

With all of his feelings of despair weighing him down, he was surprised when he felt a shot of adrenaline lifting him up as a hand latched onto his.

He turned, and saw Stiles, his face red and glistening with his tears. Derek didn't question it, and he didn't dare shrug his hand away. He waited, longing for the reason why Stiles stopped him. He didn't care how long he had to stand out in the front yard; he'd wait a week if it meant Stiles would take him back.

Stiles' forehead fell against Derek's chest.

"I may not be able to trust you when it comes to drugs," he said. "But I do know that I can trust what you say. I heard you at the club. You said 'please don't leave me, Stiles'. Even in your state, you still knew how important I was to you."

He looked into Derek's eyes, and Derek could see the emotions flying. Anger, sadness, fear; it was all bundled into one nervous mess, and his eyes were the windows into this turmoil in his heart.

"Don't make me look like an idiot for taking you back," he said. "I won't be so forgiving next time."

Derek couldn't help but smile; he won. He was bewildered that Stiles would even consider letting him back into his life, but he did it. He didn't want to question it, because he liked what he got, and he truly was going to work to gain Stiles' trust.

He threw his arms around Stiles, holding him as close as possible.

"Thank you," he said, giving Stiles a soft kiss atop his head.

That's when Stiles resumed his position as the only drug Derek needed. He kept him happy, grounded, and helped bring him back to the way he wished he had been all along. As long as he had Stiles, he wouldn't crave anything else. He wouldn't need anything else. The risk of losing Stiles was too much. He didn't care if he had to check in with Stiles any time he went somewhere without him. He didn't care if Stiles became concerned about whether or not there was a chance of him running back to old habits. Those were minuscule, mundane things that he was more than happy to take if it meant having Stiles.

He was his only drug, and like a true addict, he would do anything to regularly get his fix.


End file.
